


somewhat tradition

by sarcasticfishes



Series: before & after [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Halloween, M/M, Pumpkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the first time he’d attended it aged six, Stiles proclaimed Beacon Hills’ Halloween Fair to be his favourite annual event. The memory of that very first year, gripping Deputy Foley’s hand as he defiantly dragged her through the haunted house despite her worries that it might be ‘too scary for him.’ She might have had a point; Stiles <i>did</i> kick a werewolf in the shin. And now aged twenty-six he was a college graduate with a degree in Folklore and a surprising skill for carving pumpkins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	somewhat tradition

**Author's Note:**

> This fits into the same universe as [Young, Loud, Bright](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2078733), but you absolutely do not have to read that. [Eva](http://irishchangeling.tumblr.com/) prompted me with theme park and some other stuff that I totally disregarded and ran off on a whim. She is now discontinuing thirteen years of friendship. Unbeta'd because lazy, I'm sorry.

Since the first time he’d attended it aged six, Stiles proclaimed Beacon Hills’ Halloween Fair to be his favourite annual event. He loved it even more than the Christmas Corral, May Faire and Spring Fling (he didn’t particularly care for any of those – they all paled in comparison to the Halloween Fair). The memory of that very first year, gripping Deputy Foley’s hand as he defiantly dragged her through the haunted house despite her worries that it might be ‘too scary for him.’ She might have had a point, Stiles _did_ kick a werewolf in the shin when it jumped out at him, causing the luminous skeleton hovering behind the injured wolf to burst out laughing, and kindly step back to allow Stiles passage.

There wasn’t a haunted house next year, and his mom had gone quiet when he asked her about it, shaking her head and urging him along towards the Teacups (poorly disguised as cauldrons) instead.

Stiles still attended the fair every year after without fail. Even the infamous Halloween of 2011 when much of the town had been in a state of deep distress, Stiles had persuaded Lydia into taking a moment to stop for a go on the bumper cars, and to buy some seasonal orange cotton candy.

(“Barrow could totally be hiding out here. We’re just on the lookout,” he’d said.

“Yes. I’m _sure_ he’s taking refuge by the Ferris wheel. Definitely,” Lydia had replied, smiling primly as she stole some of his cotton candy. The trip had been out of the blue, and definitely strange considering the circumstances they were in, but she didn’t question him and he had never loved her more than he did that day.)

And now aged _twenty_ -six he was a college graduate with a degree in Folklore and a surprising skill for carving pumpkins. Not to mention his A+ efforts at icing the pumpkin pies. Even Derek seemed impressed.

“That’s some graphic icing,” Derek said, peering down at a pie with a fondant severed head decorating it’s smooth surface, “I would have thought you were too squeamish for this kind of thing.”

“Thanks big guy— _what_ ,” Stiles almost dropped the bag of orange sugar he’d been about to load into the cotton candy machine in his stall. Derek’s clothes were tattered and bloody, his brow heavy with the shift, fangs glinting at Stiles as they protruded over Derek’s lower lip. “Derek, what the _hell_.”

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek said, a slight smirk lifting up his mouth, “It’s Halloween.”

Stiles mouthed wordlessly at him, well used to the way Derek had mellowed out in the last decade, but still occasionally caught off guard by it.

“How come I’ve never seen you do this before?” he managed to croak out, reaching out over the front of the stall to smooth his thumb over Derek’s brow, “Do you do this every year? Run around town all wolfed-out and… stuff?”

“Um, no,” Derek shook his head a little, “It, actually. Hah, it was a family thing. We used to run the haunted house every year like this. As wolves. Well, Laura refused. She came up with a different outfit every year. Cheesy stuff, vampire, glow-in-the-dark skeleton, Frankenstein’s monster.”

“Oh,” Stiles, mouth pulled into a little pucker, chewing the inside of his lip, “Actually yeah, I. I remember, when I was six. Wow, that woulda been… 2001?”

Derek nodded, fangs receding, “That was probably the last one, then. The year of the fire.” Almost twenty years ago now.

Stiles pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, struggling to find something to say. There was rarely someone who left him as speechless as Derek often did. Luckily, he didn’t have to fill the lull in words, because Derek beat him to it, smirk returning.

“That was a good year actually. The Fair, I mean. Except some dumb kid kicked me when he was going through the house. Because I scared him.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, followed by, “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah,” Derek smiled.

“Oh. Oh _god_ , I _kicked_ you. You never _told_ me! That was- Oh, my _god_.”

Derek ran his tongue over his teeth, leaning his hands against the table front of the stall, grinning, “Deputy Foley apologised profusely for you, though. ‘ _Derek, oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry. He’s- he’s a firecracker.’_ ” 

“Oh _god_. That- that’s why she gives us that sort of fond-but-despairing look every time we end up at the station. Because I kicked you. Jeez.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that look is because she thinks you’re corrupting me and you’re constantly getting me into trouble.”

“What,” Stiles said flatly.

“Well, it’s not surprising. You do have a reputation as a bit of a troublemaker,” Derek said evenly, and Stiles levelled him with an unimpressed look, head lolling to the side.

“That’s not what I was ‘ _what_ ’ting about.”

Derek pressed his lips together, eyebrows raised in a look of surprise that told Stiles he was suppressing a smile.

“She thinks _I’m_ the one corrupting _you_?”

“Stiles.”

“No, I’m flattered tee bee ‘aych. She sees me as the dominant in the relationship. Think I’ve got you under my thumb. Nice. It’s not like you introduced me to the world of supernature or anything.”

“You’re taking this remarkably well.”

“Well, my dad also thinks I’m corrupting you. Hilarious, _really_. I remind him occasionally that he arrested you once.”

“Well, I can see why he might think that, considering the time he caught us staking out that vampire den? You were basically on top of me.”

“Heh, staking. Vampires, Derek. _Staking out_.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Of course I am, jeez. I’m remembering that stake out. I definitely was on top of you. And, and, Foley thinks I’m a delinquent. How many other people think that too? I have a _degree_. I’m a respectable. Kind of.” Stiles trailed off, voice petering out until his mouth snapped shut, jaw set, “Maybe.”

When he finally refocused on Derek’s face, he found it soft, human, open. Stiles bit down on his tongue, smiled timidly.

“Do you… do you want a slice of pie? Cotton candy? Toasted marshmallows?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head minutely.

“Come with me.”

“I gotta man the stand,” Stiles said, embarrassingly meek, cheeks hot.

“Just for a few minutes. No one will starve.”

Stiles thought briefly about protesting again, but Derek was right. It was getting late and most the kids who would have been crowding the stall just hours earlier are gone home. The kids lingering around now were tipsy and slutty and _not_ looking for something to eat. Stiles slipped out the back of the stall, meeting Derek around the side- who promptly pushed him up against it.

“You’re not a delinquent.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles breathed, a little giddily, “Is that why we’re risking public indecency? Because I’m not a delinquent?”

“This isn’t publicly indecent.”

“Not yet.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Do you want to go make out behind the pumpkin pile?”

“Always.”

~

“Where the hell is Stiles?” Scott frowned, peering into the empty-but-fully-lit food stand. He carefully hitched baby Kit up on his hip, and came face to face with Cora Hale as he turned to leave. Scott blinked at her, unsure if he was hallucinating or if she was actually walking around in public in full beta shift. Claws, sideburns and all. “Cora?”

“Hey, you seen Derek anywhere? He’s supposed to be helping me with the haunted house and right about now is when all the rowdy teens come in,” Cora shuddered.

Oh. Haunted house. That explained a lot.

“Uh no, but… Stiles is missing too. I’d bet good money we’ll find them together.”

“Gross, nevermind. They’re probably fucking,” Cora grimaced, uncaring as Scott hastily covered his son’s ears, “I’ll just go find Malia.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Bonus:**  
>  "Hey," Stiles panted, flopping back uncomortably onto the pile of pumpkins, dislodging some, not caring at all, "If you and Cora are bringing back the family tradition with the Hales' Haunted House thing, maybe we should start a tradition. You and me, I mean."
> 
> "You mean sneaking off to make out in the pumpkin patch?" Derek pulled back, eyebrow lifted in amusement and disbelief.
> 
> "Hell yeah."


End file.
